There's a Crack Behind the Fridge
by reincarnatedwitch
Summary: John was just making tea, completely normal huh? Then suddenly, John's not there any more - and no-one can remember him. What's going on? Look's like someone needs a Doctor…  *Happy Birthday misskam!*  :D
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First crossover, so let me know what you think! I don't care if you review now or in 2060. All reviews are appreciated :D **

'**Just in time' Birthday Fic for ****misskam****, happy birthday! :D **

**Disclaimer: Oh how I wish I did, and yet, my wishes have, so far, proved futile. **

**Warnings: Not beta-ed. Any blindingly obvious mistakes let me know! (:**

Sherlock groaned. He was bored - superbly, ridiculously, unanimously - _bored_. There had been no cases for weeks; well, no interesting ones anyway. A couple of murders, a few shop thefts and a kidnapping, but nothing to really _interest _him. John had even seen this coming, and hidden his gun. Sherlock could probably work out where it was from the position of his eyebrow, but he was leaving that for when this monotonous phase became unbearable. He groaned again, throwing himself further over the side of the sofa and draping his hand almost to the carpet, in easy reach of his violin should the occasion rise whereupon he would be needed to use it.

In other words; in case Mycroft turned up.

What made it worse was that deep down he was almost certain that John was secretly _laughing _at him. The smaller man had trundled around the flat for the past couple of days, trying and failing to find something to occupy Sherlock with. However the daily newspapers' pathetic attempt at a crossword was hardly enough to occupy his brain for more than a moment, and if 3 down 5 letters (A constellation on the equator east of Taurus) had escaped him for now, it made no difference. And John had no right to laugh at him like that.

His moans had obviously not gone unheard by his flatmate however, as John sighed to himself before piping up from the confines of that ridiculous armchair he loved so much.

"What is it now Sherlock?" And then, before Sherlock had even had a chance to reply John cut back in, "And if you tell me that you're 'bored' then so help me I will smash your violin against your head for a bit of peace and quiet."

Sherlock promptly shut his mouth again and resumed the petulant child look that he had mastered perfectly.

John tried unsuccessfully to ignore the little huffs of impatience from the sofa; he almost lasted a full minute before he heaved himself upwards with a sigh.

"Cup of tea?"

Sherlock almost laughed at John's predictability, and his obviously strong belief that tea cured everything, but nodded anyway. John knew that it was Sherlock had been hinting at the entire time, and knew he should be irritated, but somehow living with Sherlock for as long as he had meant he was used to being manipulated.

He knew this should probably tell him something about his personality (or mentality) , but if he was honest with himself he didn't really want to hear it if it did.

He'd just poured the milk into Sherlock's tea - only a splash - and was turning to leave the kitchen when he spotted something just behind the fridge.

"What the he-"

There was the sudden smashing sound of a china mug hitting the hard floor, and Sherlock sat bolt upright.

"John?" No answer. "You alright?"

He was greeted with silence.

"Trust you to smash the only disinfected mugs." This statement wasn't answered by a witty remark as he'd hoped. In fact; it wasn't answered at all.

He sighed - if John was angry with him about making him get the tea then he might as well go and explain to him now about how it was all his own fault before he would get unnecessarily confused and demand an apology.

"John?" He called, stepping into the kitchen area. The smashed mugs lay on the ground, surrounded by a steaming puddle of milk and tea, slowly creeping across the uneven floor.

But there was no sign of John.

Sherlock's mind pricked up, the cogs slowly beginning to spin again after so many weeks of laying idle. The window was shut, so no-one had got in or out that way. He'd only been sat on the sofa; no one could have snuck past him, even in this numb state. There were no signs of a struggle, and apart from the smashed mugs there was no evidence to show John had been there at all.

This must be a practical joke; something John had concocted to occupy Sherlock with perhaps? He decided that Mrs Hudson would probably be able to give him some answers. He swept out the door, and leant over the banister, ignoring the fact that he was dressed only in his dressing gown and loose pyjama pants; she was his landlady, she knew what to expect by now.

"Mrs Hudson!"

The answering cry was almost immediate. "Yes, Sherlock dear? I do have a phone you know."

Sherlock ignored her last sentence as if it had never been uttered. "Where's John?"

"John dear? Who's that then, new boyfriend?"

"John. My _flatmate _John." Sherlock's disbelief was obvious in his tone - surely no-one was _that _oblivious.

"Oh I didn't know you finally got a flatmate dearie! If he's a keeper you'll have to discuss rent with me soon. Now I must dash, I'm afraid I haven't seen him around and I'm missing 'loose women'…"

She walked back into her flat, eyes twinkling in amusement. As much as Sherlock was loathe to admit it he was getting worried. How had Mrs Hudson forgotten John? They'd had endless afternoons of watching crap Daytime TV together, and gossiping like, well, like old women. They'd even shared conversations on how best to 'deal' with him.

But there was no doubt she was telling the truth. He was Sherlock bloody Holmes for Christ's sake! He could tell from the crinkle at the edge of her lips that she was telling the absolute truth, and if that wasn't enough - the rest of her body language held no implications of a lie. Perhaps she had simply forgotten? She was getting on now, it was a common ailment for the old; memory loss.

He decided to call Lestrade - because John was definitely missing - and if his landlady was going to be so unhelpful then he had to get help from _somewhere_.

He pulled his phone from his dressing gown pocket, and dialled the DI's personal number whilst walking back through the open door of his flat, failing to notice the absence of John's spare keys on the side table.

When the Detective picked up, he answered with a strained voice, almost a sure sign that there was a mountain of paperwork waiting for him on his desk.

"Yes? Lestrade here."

"Lestrade, it's Sherlock."

"Oh bloody hell Sherlock where have you been? I've been trying to get hold of you for ages, some evidence had gone missing and I really need it for the for-"

"Your paperwork can wait Lestrade, do you know where John is?"

"How did you… ergh. Never mind. Who?"

"_John_, Lestrade! My _flatmate_!"

"look Sherlock, I'm busy. If you've got a new flatmate then good luck to him - but I don't have the time or manpower to look for him all across London, why don't you just try his mobile?"

"But… how can you have forgotten John?"

"If you ever introduced him to me, he obviously left a _very _fleeting impression. I'm very busy Sherlock, and if you don't have that missing evidence I'm going to have to come round with a search warrant."

But his warning fell on deaf ears; Sherlock had hung up.

He paced the room, hands clutching uselessly against his phone, dressing gown floating behind him like some bizarre cloak. This was impossible. It was one thing to be snatched from one's own kitchen, another thing _completely _to vanish. It was unheard of for people to forget your very _existence_.

It wasn't just improbable, it was practically impossible!

But his panicked pacing and muttering was interrupted by a strange sound echoing around the room. It was unlike any instrument Sherlock had heard before, yet strangely sounded slightly like the way John described his violin playing in the early hours of the morning; a sort of frenzied see-sawing sound, like a monster taking laboured breaths.

And before his eyes the outline of a blue box began to shape in the middle of the cluttered living room, gradually filling in to reveal a bright blue police box standing right beside the armchair; as if it had any right to be there.

Sherlock found himself holding his breath as an arm appeared from the slightly open door, holding a strange blinking green light on a stick. The arm swung the odd instrument around before withdrawing back into the depths of the box, and Sherlock could just about hear a man's voice inside.

"Earth, late 2011 - Somewhere in London apparently. The Sat Nav's not what it used to be I'm afraid. Room occupied by, one human - no harmful intents."

A head stuck out the space where the arm had appeared from, grinning broadly, "Hello there! I'm the Doctor."

Sherlock frowned at him. It was rare that he was ever at a loss for words, but this time he was content to just let the events unfurl before him.

The flashing green stick was back, sweeping around the flat. When it pointed at the kitchen it made a strangled sound and a small red light flashed; this seemed to mean something to the strange man and he stopped and studied it, a small crinkle beginning to form between his eyebrows.

"Oh dear." He muttered. Before glancing sideways at Sherlock, the pitying look had the effect of waking Sherlock from his shock-induced stupor.

"What are you?" He demanded, folding his arms across his bare chest, feeling under-dressed in front of the stranger who was rather strangely attired in a tweed jacket, braces, polished brown shoes, and a spotted bow tie.

"Don't you mean who?" The stranger inquired, smirking slightly at Sherlock's defensive glare.

"Of course not. You are 'The Doctor' - that much has been covered. However you have just materialised in my living room in a police box. That is as yet unexplained."

His haughty tones and lack of fear seemed to surprise the man who was now staring him down, his eyes assessing Sherlock as if unsure of his mental health.

"That doesn't matter. What matters is - there are two smashed mugs in your kitchen, how did they get there?"

"My flatmate dropped them."

"And where is he now?"

"I don't know. He just vanished."

"What's his name?"

"It's, ermm, J-John. John. His name is John." The panic in Sherlock's eyes was back, creeping into the edges and banishing all other emotion from his face, making his appear childlike and scared. The stranger, The Doctor, advanced towards him, and steered him onto the empty sofa making calming noises all the way - as if trying to calm a spooked horse.

"Tell me, How long had John been your flatmate?"

"Ages. Not very long. I, don't know. Why don't I know?"

"It's alright - its only detail anyway, who needs detail? I want you to tell me as much as you can about John, anything and everything, whatever pops into your head. Just describe him to me."

"He's middle-ish height. Brown hair. No, wait, blonde hair - brown eyes. He was nice, he was a doctor too. Doctor Wilson. I remember he worked at a clinic. Where is he?"

"I don't know, you're doing very well now…"

"Sherlock."

"Sherlock, keep going."

The man was walking around the living room, navigating the blue box, turning over picture frames and even staring at the indentation marks of the armchair. Or lack of them.

That hit Sherlock as a little odd. Shouldn't there be marks?

"He was sitting there." He said, pointing at the chair, The Doctor jumped back as if scalded, glancing around him cautiously. "Then he moved to the kitchen to make tea."

Sherlock was less panicked now, his memories becoming clearer; less jumbled.

"He was an army doctor, had a slight limp in one leg - psychosomatic of course. I told him that on our first meeting at Barts. He got shot in the shoulder though; invalided home. No one could remember him. Why couldn't they remember him?"

But the Doctor had tuned out of the ramblings, his face the mirror image of Sherlock's when he had just realised something blinding obvious.

"What was your name?" He asked, focussing his gaze on the detective on the sofa, he looked a bit wary of him, as if he were going to suddenly sprout another head.

"Sherlock Holmes."

If anything this just panicked the man more.

"And your flatmate?"

"John. Doctor John Wilson."

"Watson."

"What?"

"Watson. Your flatmate is called Doctor John Watson."

Realisation dawned on Sherlock's face. "Yes. You know him? Why did I forget? I never forget. What on earth is happening Doctor?" His pitch was rising again, and he stood up and followed the Doctor into the kitchen doorway.

"Don't look now" The Doctor whispered, "But you've got a crack in your wall."

**A/N: dun dun dunn! Reviews = updates and also love :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello again! Oh my, it was nice to hear from you guys - such lovely comments! :D I will reply to reviews here - because otherwise I'm terrible and forget :P **

**Chalcedony Rivers: Hello you :') apologies for your death, if its any consolation I'll have Sherlock investigate your murder? ;) **

**NotQuiteBeserk: Hello! Thanks for the review :D I've never seen House, but I heard that they were modelled on Holmes and Watson, so I guess it was a subconscious reference :') Here's the second chapter, enjoy!**

**Idoloni: Hello! Thank you for your lovely comments! Confusing **_**is **_**good, but hopefully this will answer a few questions - understanding isn't so bad either ;) Here's the nest instalment, off we goooo! :'D**

**Disclaimer: If I owned these two shows, I'd be the happiest woman on Earth. However I hear that the BBC are all happier than me; take a guess as to the ownership… **

**Geronimo! **

Sherlock leaned carefully around the doorframe next to the strange 'Doctor', having assumed from his hushed tones that this was more than just your average crack. And sure enough just behind the fridge he could see the jagged corner of a crack poking out. This, however, was not worried him the most; oh no.

What worried him most was that there was a strange light reaching from the crack and lighting up the spot just to the side of the smashed teacups. He knew instinctively that it was a bad idea to touch it. This light seemed to be the thing the Doctor feared the most, his hand coming up to rub worriedly at his forehead as he turned to look at Sherlock. He obviously saw something in his eyes that helped him make a decision.

"Stay here." He said, before pulling out a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket. He lay this over his hand and got down on all fours in the doorway. Slowly, cautiously he began to crawl into the kitchen, towards the white light. When he was only a few feet away he reached out his hand a grabbed a piece of one of the smashed mugs before retreating back to where Sherlock still stood - too shocked to do anything else.

By the time he had hauled himself back up the Doctor looked much happier. He wrapped the shard of china up in the cloth before putting it carefully into one of his pockets, then turned to look at Sherlock.

"Right. Stay here, I'll be back in two minutes." He said, glancing over at the box. "No, actually… better make it three."

Sherlock did as he was told. He had, by now, had the time to make some of his own deductions about this 'Doctor' character in his living room, and he knew that despite the fact he should be running in horror, he could trust him.

It was the almost imperceptible details that gave this message, but it was there all the same, and Sherlock also had the distinct impression that this man knew more about what had happened to John than he was letting on.

He strained his ears to hear what was going on inside the box; and after a while he could make out voices having a hushed conversation. There were more people in there? The conversation itself was hard to hear, but he picked up the occasional word from the Doctor.

"…Timeline…crack in the kitchen… don't tell…fictional…paradox."

He understood all of those words of course, but it that order they seemed to make absolutely no sense, and he wondered if the man wasn't a little delusional. But then again, he had just materialised in the living room in a blue police box, clearly alien. If anyone was allowed to be delusional - it would be him.

Either way, he knew he'd do his utmost to stay with him. If this man knew what had happened to John then Sherlock would be sticking to him like glue, because something had obviously happened here - something far beyond normality, and Sherlock refused to let whatever it was happen to John.

So when the Doctor reappeared, a sheepish smile gracing his lips, and asked him a question - he already knew his answer.

"So. Shall we go and save John? It'll be dangerous mind you."

Sherlock had to refrain himself from rolling his eyes. "Obviously."

…..

When Sherlock stepped into the blue box he had to admit to being a little shocked by the design and technology; it was almost as if the box was designed specifically to match the Doctor's personality.

The Doctor was currently jumping up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder like an over-enthusiastic toddler.

"Cool huh?" He said, grinning, "Go on, say it! Everyone says it, you might as well."

"What's it called?"

"What? Oh - Time And Relative Dimension In Space, or Tardis for short. But that's not what I meant! Doesn't anything strike you as strange about it?"

"Well, it's alien. But I'd guessed that much already when it landed in my living room and you stepped out."

"But what about the size of it?"

"There's nothing wrong with the size, in fact I daresay that you have more than enough room for three people in here."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." The Doctor accused, pouting sulkily. "I'll have to say it then shall I?" He challenged. "Fine. Its bigger on the inside!"

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow. "Obviously."

"You're no fun." The Doctor stated, but he was smiling as he spoke, and Sherlock found himself smiling back.

"Rory, Amy! Come and meet our visitor!"

Sherlock cringed at the shouting right in his ear, but carefully schooled his features into his trademark impassive mask when he saw two people creep out from around the corner.

The woman was the first to speak, her Scottish accent unmistakable. "Hey, I'm Amy! And this is Rory."

"Sherlock. You're married." No one seemed surprised at his lack of social niceties, but Rory's reaction to his statement was slightly unexpected.

"Wow! How did you figure that one out?"

Sherlock looked at the man as if he were an idiot. "Your wedding rings." He announced.

"But we're not wearing any."

"Well, that's because you're scared she'll lose it."

"Hey! I have a name!" Amy cut in. Her outburst went completely ignored, however.

"Then how did you know about them?"

"Slight indentation on both your ring fingers. You've been wearing them in secret - either that or you're both leading double lives in which you're married to other people, but under these circumstances that seems improbable."

"You've been secretly wearing your wedding ring?"

"So have you!"

The Doctor's own face was a mirror of Sherlock's, both of them shuddering slightly at the 'sick-with-love' look in the couple's eyes. Sherlock was debating whether or not to interrupt them when the Doctor saved him the trouble.

"Right! Enough you Ponds! We have a doctor to find."

"What's happened?" Amy asked, sending a worried look at Sherlock before turning her full attention to the Doctor as he ran around the main console, flicking switches and levers and twisting various assorted buttons and knobs.

"Doctor Watson, seems to have vanished. And there is a crack in the kitchen. We need to leave right now." Outside the Tardis, the white light from the kitchen was beginning to spread through the flat.

"What? As in _The _Doctor Watson?" Rory interrupted.

That caught Sherlock's attention; so much so that he missed the 'stop' gestures the Doctor was sending at Rory.

"What do you mean '_The _Doctor Watson'?"

The Doctor was typing furiously on some kind of console and twisted the screen around to get a better look at it. Having apparently found what he was looking for he began mouthing and acting to Rory, trying to tell him what to say.

"Erm, I just meant that, I've seen his book- No. Not book. Blog? Yes! That's it. I've seen his blog." Rory stammered.

Sherlock didn't seem convinced, but he let the matter drop anyway. He realised there was no way he was going to get a straight answer out of these people.

"Where are we going then Doctor?" Amy interrupted, searching for a way to change the topic.

"Aha! This is where I'm going to be really clever." The Doctor announced, and he produced the cloth wrapped piece of mug from inside his jacket pocket.

"A piece of china? What's that supposed to do?"

"I'm going to put it in here," A draw-like compartment opened in the console, and he placed the mug shard onto it before sliding it back again, "And the Tardis will create a time signature. Then we can track good old Watson through the mug!"

The nonplussed looks on Rory and Amy's faces seemed to go unnoticed by the Doctor, who continued running around the console, until a strange noise began to fill the room. Sherlock recognised it as the breathing noise from earlier.

"I would ask if he's always like this, but the looks on your faces have already given me all the answer I need."

The Ponds smiled. Sherlock found himself smiling back - it was strange in a way - that he had found new friends in the strangest of places, but then again, not strange at all. Sherlock Holmes wasn't what you would call your average man.

"Hold on Tight!" The Doctor shouted, "I have no idea where we're going!"

And, laughing, they took off in a whirl of noise and sparks.

**A/N: So yes. That was the update. Was it good? Or bad? Do you want to murder me? Or leave me to write you the next chapter? Only one way to let me know… ;)**

**And Hello to all you anonymous readers who have this on 'Story Alert' and 'Favourite' lists, it's so nice to see that you're enjoying it :D But what's to stop you being involved in our little Sherlock+Doctor Who loving? Get involved! Leave a review :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello! So yes - another new chapter - isn't it all so exciting? :') More happens in this one I think, so I hope you enjoy :D **

**Again - unbeta-ed so forgive me any mistakes you may find (:**

**Disclaimer: Nope, nope, nope-edy, nope. **

**NotQuiteBerserk: Well when you put it that way… Ahahahaa, nope - I've decided that in your best interests it might be best to just leave me be; unless you hate this chapter of course :')**

**Chalcedony Rivers: Hmm perhaps. I guess 'Death by Squee' is becoming all too common with him around… :') Ahaa thank you! Well - here you are! :D**

**BlinkingAngel: Oooh very nice Doctor-themed name by the way :D Thank you very much! Here you are, enjoy! (:**

**Idoloni: my sentiments exactly ;) Your comment really made me laugh - it was quite awkward to have to explain :'') **

**Laughy-Taffy the Grape: Hello newcomer! :') Well, he's the Doctor, anything could happen! As long as there is enough techno-babble to explain it… Hope you enjoy this chapter :D**

**Allon-sy! **

They landed with a sudden drop, all falling to the floor in a heap. When Sherlock sat up he found he was entangled around Rory, who was trying his hardest not to look embarrassed. When they had righted themselves and Rory had helped Amy to her feet they found the Doctor standing on the raised platform in front of them; smiling broadly. "We're here!" He announced, looking like a seven year old on Christmas morning.

"And where exactly _is _here?" Amy asked, shuddering, as she sorted out her skirt. Sherlock wondered how such a thing could even be considered a skirt; it covered barely any of her legs. When Rory caught him looking he raised a hand in defeat and turned away. "Not really my area." He said to reassure him, and Rory smiled in understanding.

"No idea!" The Doctor replied to Amy's earlier question, I'll have a quick look… stay here."

And he ran over to the door and stuck his head outside. When he pulled it back in he turned to Sherlock, a look of wonder on his face.

"Do you happen to have a favourite time period?"

Sherlock looked at him like he'd just pulled a rabbit from his earlobe, "No. Why would I?"

"No, no no. Is there any point in time which interests you the most, a favourite topic in school history classes or something?"

"Well, I always liked the Victorian era. No particular reason, it just happened to stick in my head - like I was missing something important about it. Is that what you mean?"

The Doctor only nodded, before swallowing nervously. "Yes, exactly what I thought." He shot a meaningful look in Amy and Rory's direction whilst Sherlock's back was turned; studying some of the controls. They were more complicated than he'd anticipated. He didn't understand how this strange tray device could help them find John, but The Doctor had shouted something about the time-signature being almost like a universal fingerprint that they could track - over the whirring of the engines it was difficult to hear.

The Doctor spoke again, louder this time, a general announcement. "Right, before we go on a man hunt I suggest we all have a change of clothes, you can't really go out in your dressing gown." He gestured towards Sherlock, who looked down at himself in surprise, as if he'd forgotten his apparel. "No worries, the changing rooms are down there on the third right, not the left. Don't turn left. Left is bad…"

"Anything I need to particularly wear?" Sherlock interrupted.

"Prepare yourselves for the Victorians. Rory and Amy, you too. Especially Amy - I would not like to see people's reactions to that… skirt." He waved his hand at said item of clothing as if it personally offended him, before turning back to the monitor.

"What about you Doctor?" Rory piped up, "Aren't you going to change?"

The Doctor merely looked at him like he had just announced he was, in fact, a girl, called Rorina or something. Rory took that as a resounding 'no.' and turned to follow the other two companions to the changing rooms.

He had rather a bad feeling about this.

….

When they reappeared in the main console room the Doctor had to put a hand over his mouth to stop himself laughing at their expressions. Amy looked like she wanted to murder someone, and he had no doubt that it was him in the firing line. Rory looked at the floor as if begging it to open up and swallow him, and Sherlock was plucking at the material with a barely concealed look of disgust.

"I am _not _wearing this." Amy declared, throwing out the skirt of the long frilly dress in exasperation. "Not a chance. I am going to change." And she glared at Rory as if daring him to stop her. He didn't even look up form the floor.

Sherlock and Rory were dressed in almost matching outfits of brown tight fitting trousers, a shirt and a scarf. Rory's trousers were a lighter shade of brown, and his shirt whiter than Sherlock's which was more of a creamy colour. Rory's scarf was red whereas Sherlock's was blue. The Doctor finished his inspection and declared that they'd pass for stable hands. Then they stood in an awkward silence whilst waiting for Amy. When she reappeared she seemed to relish the look of shock on everyone's faces.

She was wearing trousers in the same style as the boys', and a long sleeved white shirt that buttoned up almost to the neck. She had also placed a cap on her head at a jaunty angle and tucked her hair underneath it, the overall effect was one of a young teenage boy. The Doctor was quite impressed.

Rory, however, looked a bit shell-shocked.

"Righty-o then!" The Doctor announced, and his voice seemed to wake everyone from their thoughts, "Off we pop! First stop; Baker Street."

…..

When they stepped out of the Tardis, they found it was difficult to try and act normal whilst gazing around themselves in wonder. Sherlock's eyes flitted about so fast it was almost as though he was high. Rory and Amy gripped hands and braced themselves as they stepped out, apparently used to far worse than Victorian London, and seemed pleasantly surprised when they were greeted by the sight of horse-drawn carriages and men in fancy top hats. People walked past them without even acknowledging their existence, smoking old pipes and blowing smoke rings with the dense grey smoke. The Doctor coughed and spun around waving his arms about erratically when the smoke got too close to him.

"Where are we Doctor?" Sherlock asked, peering around the edge of the alleyway the Tardis had landed in cautiously.

"Siddons lane, a little road, branches off of Baker Street. Do you not recognise it?"

"It looks different here," Sherlock replied defensively "It's all… sooty."

The Doctor just nodded in agreement and walked forwards, calling over his shoulder as he walked. "Well come on then! If there's anywhere Doctor Watson will be, it's right at home!"

….

Walking down Baker Street was one of the weirdest experiences of Sherlock's life. Perhaps weirder even then that time when he got drunk at the Yard's Christmas party with Anderson - but that was another story for another time.

Most of the buildings were as he remembered them, though many had the original red brick rather then the garish paint that some people had modified them with back at home. There was the occasional building that he didn't remember, and he realised that they must have been demolished. It made him sad to look at them and know that they had only a limited amount of time left.

When the Doctor eventually slowed down, dodging the many people littering the streets; children with chimney sweeping brushes pushed rudely past, older richer men with top hats glared down at them, and women lifted their skirts to try and stop them brushing against the dirty strangers.

Rory had managed to procure a variety of soot smudges on his white shirt, and Amy's trousers were coated in the muck from the gutters. Only Sherlock had somehow managed to get through it all without a spot of dirt on his clothing, although he did have an adorable smudge of soot across his cheekbone. The Doctor decided not to tell him.

Even the Doctor was showing tell-tale signs of their journey down the busy road. His hair stood on end, and he had a new rip in his trousers that made him look quite ridiculous - Sherlock decided not to tell him.

As soon as they reached number 221 Baker Street, Sherlock drew up short. It had barely changed. The paint was more faded, and the brass numbers weren't as clean as they were back at home, but it was definitely his flat. He jumped the familiar steps at a run and knocked on the door, gesturing for the Doctor and the Ponds to follow.

When the door was opened he almost had the shock of his life.

"Hello? Oh dear, you are a mess. I'm afraid I'm not interested in anything you're selling love - but Mrs Turner next door is always up for a new product or two. Her lodgers are always enthusiastic about new products, especially beauty…"

"Mrs Hudson?"

**A/N: Annddd, cue dramatic music :') Hope you enjoyed it - do please drop me a review on your way out - there's a dear (: **

**Oooh; out of interest - and because we're all friends here - Who is your favourite Doctor? And who/what is your favourite villain? **

**Awesome - this is such fun to write - its practically canon in my head :'D Looking forwards to hearing from you :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Guys. I love you all. And to prove this to you, here is another chapter - Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Nope. I rang and asked, and apparently they've added my name to the waiting list of people queuing to get in on the BBC action. **

**Replies: **

**Chalcedony Rivers: I know, it's a pleasing image right? I need this to be canon! ;) Ahahaa, I would totally read that - pure and utter crack :') Indeed… :P**

**NotQuiteBerserk: Ooh I see what you mean, I re-watched an old episode with the 'Ann-droid' and killer 'you're the weakest link' the other day and was reminded of the genius that was Eccleston (: I totally agree! What is going on with the crazy colours? Mind you, I place my trust in the writers and hope they know what they're doing… Thank you! Here's another :D**

**Monetary Value: I know, I'm so horrible to him :') I like it - Tennant is definitely a competitor - interesting choice of villain! They are indeed quite cute :D Aww thank you! Here is more, go go go! :'D **

**Idoloni: Teehee, glad I could make you laugh (: I find myself laughing at 11 more and more as the episodes go on, last Saturday's was a totally fab episode for quotes! :D Thank goodness it's not just me! :P After that 'silence in the library' episode I was terrified by my own shadow for weeks :')**

**misskam: you're here! Happy very-late Birthday! Glad you like it :D oh no! Not the locker :O Mind you - the last time you broke in you tidied it up, so I'm thinking that I should leave you waiting for a bit…. I joke. I'm not that mean ;) **

**Egaara: Hello there! Nice to hear from a new face :D Glad to hear you're enjoying it, those comments were so lovely - here, have some TARDIS shaped cookies (: **

**BlinkingAngel: I think I'm a little obsessed with this story at the moment, it's the thought of Sherlock and the Doctor meeting each other I think… this must happen! XD Ooh, interesting choices :D And really? I'd never have guessed ;) Awww thank you so, so much! Here's another - let me know what you think :D**

**Ready when you are…**

The old lady looked at him in shock, "Sorry dear, do I know you?" The confusion was evident on her face, she really didn't recognise the people in front of her. Sherlock turned to the Doctor for help; this was beyond strange, and he had no idea how to explain himself. The Doctor stepped forwards, holding a piece of blank paper up to the woman, and she visibly sighed in relief.

"Oh, you're here about the shared lodgings. He's just upstairs, but I'm afraid there won't be room for all of you Mr. Smith."

"Oh no Mrs Hudson, don't worry - they're just here for moral support." He winked at her and a flush rose on her cheeks. "Watch yourself you, I won't have any rumours flying around here. Off you pop up then, but take your shoes off in the hallway mind!" She called, as they filed past into the corridor. Then she shut the door behind her and walked towards her flat, but not before calling up the stairs; "Doctor Watson! Visitors!"

When they were alone in the hallways Sherlock turned to the Doctor, "Why is Mrs Hudson here?"

"Ahh yes. The crack in your wall may have… widened slightly. It wont go further than your flat though." The almost silent "I think" was not missed by Sherlock's sharp ears.

"So Mrs Hudson's stuck here too? Why doesn't she remember me? Will John?"

This drew a response for the otherwise silent Amy. "Doctor? Rory remembered, why doesn't the housekeeper?"

"She's my landlady, not my housekeeper." Sherlock quietly corrected. But he smiled afterwards, so Amy knew he wasn't really angry.

"I don't know. Probably something scientific, something clever. Cleverer than me. What's cleverer than me?" The Doctor paced, mindlessly tapping his fingers against his chin for inspiration, " Ahh the Tardis!"

"What?" Rory had forgotten to listen to the first half of the conversation and was blindly trying to work out what was happening as he wrestled his boots off on the mat. It wouldn't do to upset their hostess.

"The mug Rory! It was all the mug's fault!" This statement did nothing to relieve the confusion, but Rory nodded anyway, it was no use trying to get the Doctor to explain himself most of the time anyway.

At least not in a way that _normal _people could understand.

"It was a time lock; of course! We locked onto one Dr. John, but not anyone else, in her mind she's lived here all of her life. The sonic defibrillator-thingummybob, technical term that, is probably on the blink again. I'll have to fix that…"

Rory and Amy just gave him _that _look. The one that all companions mastered within only a few minutes of having known the Doctor. Otherwise known as the 'completely and utterly thrown but not willing to admit it' look.

The Doctor just sighed, pushing his hair back off of his face, "It's complicated, timey-wimey and all that jazz. Very scientifical. You wouldn't understand." Another look. "Fine. I don't really understand either. It doesn't matter. The Tardis understands and she's clever enough for all of us."

Their little conference was interrupted by a voice at the top of the stairs, and when they looked up they were met with a familiar face. Well, a familiar face to Sherlock, not so much for the rest of them.

"What the hell took you so bloody long?"

…..

They'd been ushered upstairs and into the flat in the space of about thirty seconds. John never was known for his extreme patience. He hadn't even given them a chance to speak, just pushed them up the half-familiar stairs and into flat 221B.

Now they were stood in a line just inside the door, watching him as he paced wildly in front of them, rubbing at the back of his head with an old service pistol. Sherlock was reminded of himself at the pool with Moriarty only a few months ago. Someone needed to break the tension and, as usual, the Doctor took it upon himself.

"So! John Watson eh? Where've you been?"

He wasn't expecting the man in question to stop his pacing and turn on him, fury in his eyes. "And who the hell are you?" He demanded. "I've been _here_, obviously! On my own, for three bloody months!" He turned to Sherlock, "Three months Sherlock! What did you do?"

The Doctor piped up again sheepishly, "That might have been my fault, sorry. There was a crack in your wall-"

"I remember."

"Well it wasn't just any ordinary crack-"

"I can see that!" John shouted, exasperated.

"Let me finish a sentence!" The Doctor said in the special tone that broached no arguments, smiling slightly when John sighed and nodded before sitting down on the edge of the worn out sofa, he gestured tiredly for the Doctor to continue.

"I'm The Doctor, and this is Amy and Rory. We're travellers- and we caught a distress signal coming from your flat. So we thought we'd investigate and see if we couldn't lend a hand"

"Right. So the crack in the wall…?"

"Wasn't an ordinary crack, no." The Doctor was more comfortable; in his element now, and both Amy and Rory breathed a sigh of relief. At least Dr. Watson didn't seem likely to swing a punch at him any time soon. "Two parts of Time and Space that should never have touched I'm afraid. Meeting in your kitchen."

John's sigh of 'Just my bloody luck' didn't go unheard. "And the light?" He questioned, louder.

"Well that's where it gets complicated. See if the light touches you, you no longer existed."

"Don't you mean exist?" John was getting more confused by the minute, but he was willing to listen at the very least.

"No, I mean existed. I'm afraid, Dr Watson, that you were never born. You were never born, you never grew up, you never died. You just never _were_."

Shell-shocked wasn't a strong enough expression to explain the look on John's face. He looked so alone and small, huddled into the cushions of his empty flat, that Amy felt herself clutching Rory that _tiny _bit tighter. When Sherlock moved from his position in the doorway, everyone jumped guiltily, they'd almost forgotten his existence.

He waltzed past the Doctor, and blatantly ignored the Ponds. Instead, he made a bee-line straight for the sofa where he sat down next to John, and placed a comforting hand on his arm. The ex-soldier raised his head from his hands and looked him in the eye. "Since when did you do comforting?" He questioned quietly.

Sherlock harrumphed grumpily, " I just thought you'd want a bit of support, that's all." He said, withdrawing his hand. But before he could place it back at his side it was crushed between the two bodies as John threw his arms around his neck and buried his face in his shoulder, trembling.

Sherlock could just make out a few muffled words from the vicinity of Johns head, and they all seemed to be based around; "I thought you weren't coming for me."

Sherlock rubbed the back of his head, tangling his fingers in the dirty blonde hair, "Of course I was coming. I'd be lost without my blogger."

They sat in silence like that for another few moments before John withdrew his head, his brown eyes smiling up at Sherlock before he crinkled his nose in slight disgust. "What on earth are you _wearing_?"

Sherlock immediately resumed his defensive posture, arms crossed against his chest. "It's Victorian! We had to fit in, and you can barely talk!"

"I've been here for three months! You could have got away with it for a couple of hours!"

They continued their bickering, and the Doctor watched, amused for a while. He hadn't realised he'd been muttering until a certain phrase drew Amy's attention.

"The man who waited…"

"What Doctor?" The red-head asked, turning to face him, "What is it?"

"Nothing Amy, I think that we've been here quite long enough. Enough of the chats, we need to get you two back home!"

John turned back round to face the Doctor, eyes questioning. "And where exactly is home?"

"221B Baker Street, 2011. I've had quite enough of the Victorians for one lifetime already thank you. I don't think Queen Victoria will have forgotten me quite yet - although the new face might throw her for a bit. Never mind, you can never be too careful!"

"How are you planning on getting me back?"

"Tardis; Time And Relative Dimension In Space. She's my spaceship."

"Time machine." Sherlock corrected quietly.

"Tardis." The Doctor interjected. "She's waiting for us. Have you got everything?"

"Well I didn't exactly pack to arrive."

"Fair enough. Wait! What about the Landlady?"

"Mrs Hudson? I tried talking to her at the beginning, she didn't understand me, I don't think she remembers."

"No, sorry about that. Problem with the soni- Oh never mind, I did something wrong." He grumbled "How are we going to get her back home?"

"Can't you just take her in the Tardis?" Rory asked, feeling a little left out of all the discussion.

"Well yes, Rory of course. The only problem is how to get her in there, I can't very well say, 'Hello, I'm the Doctor, step into my box!' Can I?"

"Worked with me." Amy said, winking.

"Shhh Pond" The Doctor replied, "I'm thinking. And Rory's jealous."

Rory didn't even try and deny it.

"Need a plan, need a plan, need a plan…" The Doctor muttered under his breath, pressing his face into the doorframe of the kitchen.

"Well, you should have just asked" Sherlock piped up, his eyes meeting the Doctor's for a fraction of a second before he turned back to John. "I'm good with plans."

John recognised the look in his friends eyes and turned to his new acquaintances, "I hope you're okay with running…"

**A/N: Guys, I love the response I'm getting from this fic, it really does make my day that much better when I hear from you - so please continue to let me know what you think! :D I think we've only got one more chapter to go after this, so please don't stop commenting now! (: **

**I also welcome anonymous reviews, so if you're account-less, don't let that stop you! **

**Much love! X3**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Yes, it's happened, I'm sorry. This is the final chapter. :'( **

**This chapter is dedicated to all those who have read this/ added it to story alerts/favourites lists/ and especially reviewed! You all rule!**

**egaara: Thanks for your review! Here's the last chapter - I hope you enjoy it! (:**

**Monetary Value: Ok, first off - that was one of the **_**nicest **_**reviews I have ever received! Thank you so much! :D I'm so happy that you enjoyed it (especially with the squee-ing!) Thank you! The fact that you think they're in character has made me so happy, because that's what I was most worried about (: **_**You**_**, my friend, are epic! Long live the Adipose! **

**wingless1: Hello! Another new face is always welcomed :D Here - have some jelly (: Thank you for your comments - they were muchly loved! If I ever indulge my hungry plot bunnies, I'll let you know :D (unless, of course, you fancy writing it? ;) ) **

**misskam: I couldn't resist :') I'm a sucker for a cliché! My pleasure - hope you enjoy this last chapter :D**

**Disclaimer: yes! I now own the BBC, and got engaged to Benedict this weekend. We are expecting the marriage to take place in October. Meanwhile - in real life; Just no. **

**Tick Tock goes the clock, even for my fiction… **

"Right. Does everyone know what they're doing?" The Doctor asked for the seventh time in the space of two minutes. Amy sighed in exasperation.

"Oh come on Doctor, it's hardly rocket science. In fact, I thought you'd be quite good at it, considering it's all based primarily around-"

"RUN!" Rory interrupted, and they obeyed; all four of them: The Doctor, Amy, Rory and Sherlock running through the front door and down the crowded street; pursued by a jogging Watson and a small old lady with a purse.

"Is she following?" Amy panted out between strides, her hair slipping from beneath the hat and rather ruining her 'disguise'.

Sherlock glanced back, "Yes" He replied. He didn't even seem out of breath. Now that was just _unfair_, Amy grumbled.

"Oh good." The Doctor interrupted, "I do love it when a plan works out."

He almost spoke too soon, however, when they narrowly dodged a market stall laden with fruit. John was gaining on them now, and they could hear his breathless chuckle near the backs of their feet. When they swerved off down the alleyway he was quick to follow, and when Mrs Hudson rounded the corner, she found herself manhandled into a big blue box before she could even open her mouth to protest.

She didn't realise she'd squeezed her eyes shut until she opened them again, and was greeted with the strangest sight. In front of her was a room so massive and unnatural she concluded that it must be from another world. Another country at the very least. She couldn't believe this entire building fitted inside that one blue box.

She broke the expectant silence with the hushed lines; "It's bigger on the inside…"

The Doctor clapped his hands in victory before turning to face Sherlock, "Haha! That's how it's done!" He crowed, "At least _she _knows how to behave."

"Who's she? The cat's mother?" Mrs Hudson retorted. It hadn't yet occurred to her to be scared, but she wouldn't be spoken to rudely anyway. Even by a man with a ship from another world. She spun around to face John, who had the same shocked expression on his face as he looked first at the ceiling, then at Sherlock, then at the console, then back to Sherlock. "John?" She questioned him. "What is going on? I take it they aren't thieves then."

But John didn't get a chance to answer before the Doctor interrupted, speaking at about fifty miles an hour and barely stopping for breath. "You see Mrs Hudson, John here is from the future, and so are you actually, but you don't know it yet. Well, I guess you know it now. Either way - you're both from the future. So is Sherlock" He added as an afterthought, pointing out the tall man to his right, "actually, on second thoughts - so is everyone here; it's like a reunion! Right sorry, it all started with a crack in the kitchen. Basically, you fell through it; and here you are!"

She looked at him, and then nodded slowly. "Right. Well I can't say I remember, but you do hear of some weird things happening. Why, only the other day Mrs Turner's lodgers… but you don't need to worry about that. So. What are you going to do about this?"

The Doctor looked crestfallen. "Is that it? No arguments, claims I'm crazy, nothing? You just… agree?"

"I might be old, young man, but I am not stupid."

"Right. Of course not, no. Sorry."

"That's fine love. You were saying?"

The Doctor looked a little confused at the strange exchange, but continued regardless. "Yes. This is my ship, and we're going to take you back home."

"Well, best get on then hadn't you? I've got washing to do later." And, with that, she turned around and sat on one of the long benches along the wall, crossing her ankles daintily. The Doctor got the distinct impression she was humouring him.

No-one really seemed to know how to react to her completely un-phased behaviour, but there didn't really seem to be anything they could do about it. They'd planned for kicking and screaming, not calm acceptance. So the Doctor sent Amy to keep an eye on her whilst he got them home, as a precautionary measure, in case she had a sudden change-of-heart.

Sherlock had a few questions of his own, and he followed the Doctor around the Tardis console - observing him as he pressed buttons and pulled levers in an almost frantic fashion. Finally, the time-lord turned to face him, "Yes?"

"What are we going to do about her Doctor? She doesn't remember, it's a whole new world to her."

"I'll think of something" He muttered; flicking a cube until it rolled into a hole in the console. "Finally! Been trying to get that to work for years…"

"What about everyone else? Will they remember them when we get back?"

"Don't you worry, I have a plan. Just keep an eye on your Doctor and I'll keep an eye on mine…me."

Sherlock glared but turned to go anyway, smiling as he passed Rory on the stairs. When the Doctor next looked at him, he was deep in conversation with John, who reached up to wipe the sooty mark from his cheek. Damn it. Oh well; someone would have told him eventually anyway.

It wasn't long before Amy's increasingly irritated voice could be heard over the sound of the Tardis' engine.

"There's nothing wrong with it!"

"Well it's very messy, could you not just give it a quick dust round?"

"It's old! And it's not even mine, the Doctor should do it!"

"Well he's too busy driving dear. You don't seem to do much, it wouldn't take two minutes!""I do more around here than Rory!"

"Oh yes, very handsome isn't he? Not as handsome as John mind you, but quite a catch…"

The Doctor grinned, this Hudson lady was proving to be one of his favourite hitchhikers.

…

They landed with a jolt that sent Sherlock sprawling awkwardly to the floor, John pulled him up, laughing at his injured expression.

Mrs Hudson was the first to speak, she piped up loudly from her perch, "Well your landings could do with a bit of work."

And that was all it took to set Amy off, she giggled slightly, then full belly-laughed when she saw the Doctor's expression. It wasn't long before the others joined in; she had an infectious laugh, and they had a lot of tension to work out. In the back of his mind the Doctor mused that it was the happiest the Tardis had sounded for a while.

"Home at last!" He announced, throwing open the door to reveal the inside of 221B Baker Street, exactly how Sherlock had left it, right down to the smashed mugs of tea on the kitchen floor. The white light had seemingly backtracked once it had engulfed everyone in the flat, and was now only surrounding the teacups. "Everybody out!"

They filed through the door one at a time, John pushing past Sherlock to get out first, before sinking ungracefully into his favourite armchair, an audible sigh pushing past his lips. Sherlock was next, and he smiled to see how _right _it looked to have John back where he belonged, despite the Victorian clothing. Mrs Hudson bustled out amidst cries from Amy who she'd apparently jostled past.

She stepped out in obvious interest, then looked at the sofa in front of her before practically screaming "What have you done with my wall?"

Sherlock just smiled fondly and said nothing.

The Ponds were next, followed closely by the Doctor who made a beeline for the kitchen. A whirring noise could be heard before a sickening crunch. When he sauntered back into the living room he was smiling cheerily, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Crack's fixed." he announced to no-one in particular, "All sorted. No more Victorian adventures for you lot."

The relief on John's face grew even larger at this comment - if such a thing were possible.

"What about me?" Mrs Hudson questioned, eyebrows halfway up her forehead. "I _live _there."

"No you don't." The Doctor said, frowning slightly. "You live here. Now. This time period." He looked over at Sherlock, and the taller man's expression of genuine concern for the older woman was enough to win him round. "Wait a second, won't be long. Come along Ponds!"

He dragged them back into the Tardis, jacket whirling impressively behind him. A few seconds later the sound of wheezing vanished, then reappeared. John didn't even have the energy to look surprised at the impossible machine.

When the Tardis came back into view, Mrs Hudson was no longer sat on the sofa if 221B, she had simply vanished into thin air. When the Doctor stepped out again Sherlock looked at him in confusion.

"Where is she?"

"Downstairs, in her flat. Fell asleep during 'Loose Women' I believe." The Doctor winked.

"Won't she remember?"

"Not at all. Misplaced timeline, happens all the time. Well, a bit. Rarely."

John pitched in from the armchair, "So she'll forget about the Victorians?"

"Yep. And me I suppose. Shame really, she was fun - if she ever needs a lift to Mars I'm always here."

"And the rest? They'll all remember John now?" Sherlock questioned, glancing at his flatmate as he struggled to stay awake in the armchair.

"Oh yes. I've, ermm, _closed _the crack, your timelines are back on track. Kind of."

"What do you mean 'kind of'?" Sherlock asked, nose wrinkled in confusion.

"Nothing! You're fine. Just go and fight criminals, defeat Moriarty and all that. Must dash, I'm sure I'll see you around again; in fact - I know I will." He finished with a thoughtful expression. He rushed over to the detective, and gave him a quick hug, before kissing the air either side of his cheeks, John got the same treatment, which he amusedly reciprocated.

Amy and Rory came rushing out in time for a hug and a quick peck on the cheek (in Amy's case), before they waved and walked back inside their impossible box.

"Until next time" Sherlock called, John merely chuckled tiredly.

And with that, The Doctor shut the door of the Tardis, and the sound of it disappearing once again filled the living room. When it had gone there seemed to be an empty space, like something was missing from the flat.

Sherlock looked at John in all his Victorian finery; leant back against the armchair almost asleep - and grinned. When the smaller man cracked opened his eyes and asked "What?" , it only made him chuckle more. Soon they were both laughing quietly, the flat feeling warmer now it's occupants had returned.

It was only after a few minutes of comfortable silence that Sherlock noticed something.

"Wait. I didn't tell him about Moriarty, did you?"

John opened his eyes, which had slipped shut again, "No, it's not like we had a chance to have a chat, I thought you must have done."

"Well I didn't, so how did he know about that?"

…

Back in the Tardis, Rory and Amy were busy fangirling over the day.

"So that was _The _Sherlock Holmes?" Rory asked, his voice laced with enthusiasm.

"Yep!" The Doctor replied, "And John Watson eh? What a day…"

"Why were they in 2011 then? I thought they were fictional, book characters… I'd never heard of them as anything other than the characters back at home." Amy said, her curiosity giving out now that the subjects weren't there to hear it.

"I don't know…" The Doctor mused. "Sometimes the universe works in mysterious ways."

He left the Ponds to their cheerful bickering and turned back to the console, bringing up a digital image of number 221, Baker Street. In all the excitement it had almost slipped his notice, but now it was unmistakeable. He sighed; at least he had an excuse to visit them again.

Because above the top floor of Sherlock and John's flat, there was an extra floor. A floor that didn't make sense. A floor that didn't exist.

Sometimes, he wondered if time wasn't just out to get him.

**A/N: So that's it! I'm quite sad now it's over, it's been such fun to write :') **

**Please do let me know your thoughts, I love to hear them, but even if you just put a smiley face I'd be a very happy bunny :D If you've been secretly reading this - please drop me a review just to let me know your overall thoughts, thank you! (: **

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